The Adventures of Dr John Watson and Mr Sherlock Holmes
by Elril
Summary: The personal adventures of Mr. Holmes and his friend and blogger Dr. Watson, written as a collection of short stories. some suggestive themes in later chapters.
1. Making Christmas

A/N: I don't own these characters and I gain nothing from writing this, save amusement. I do hope you enjoy it, more chapters are coming soon, and please do leave me a review.

Watson banged into the flat arms full, and red cheeked from the cold.

"So were serious about throwing a Christmas party then?" Sherlock wouldn't have looked over, he was quite busy staring at the ceiling and thinking. Except it was John, and lately despite his best efforts he found himself unable to keep his eyes away from his flat mate. Sighing, he determinedly shut his eyes; John was not helping his ability to think clearly and Sherlock was annoyed.

"Yes I was serious; did you really think I was joking?" John was setting the groceries down and Sherlock could hear the clinking of glass bottles, judging by the sound they were filled with liquor, probably rum.

"You sound entirely too pleased with the idea." Sherlock let out a long breath through his nose and cracked an eye open to see John smiling at him, he quickly closed his eye again and resisted the urge to roll and groan in frustration. He loved that particular smile, it was the one John used after a job well done. A smile of simple satisfaction, and it drove him mad.

"If you're bored you can help with the shopping." John said rustling the bags and opening cupboards.

"Dull." Sherlock cracked an eye open again, "I was thinking until you came home."

"Oh well I'll just go back out again so you can think properly, shall I?" John asked and Sherlock could hear the sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

"What would you do if I didn't go shopping, order takeaway every night?" The door to the fridge opened, glass bottles on the door rattling. "Why are there pigs' hearts in the fridge?"

"Experiment." Sherlock snapped and this time he did roll over, borrowing himself into the back of the couch.

John sighed, eyed Sherlock's long frame and resisted the urge to throw the hearts at his flat mate's head. "Can they go in the freezer? I need room in here."

"Oh yes! Because research is not as important as your little Christmas party!" Sherlock yelled into the couch, squirming deeper into the cushions.

"Well, it's the freezer or the bin. You can account for coagulation under those conditions can't you?"

"Yes, yes. Fine." Sherlock sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. Looking up he watched John bustle about the kitchen, he did seem entirely too happy.

"You've planned something." Sherlock said suddenly becoming very still, he steepled his fingers and looked over them at his friend. Taking in the lived-in face and the bob of his Adam's apple, John hadn't told him the whole story yet.

"Yes, yes I have. A Christmas party." John did a quick double take, trying to assess how much Sherlock had already deduced. "And I expect you to be there, can't have a party without my flat mate can I?" He grinned wagging a finger across the flat at Sherlock, who only stared harder.

"You have another girlfriend, got tired of the one with the nose already? Brilliant." He grinned his emotionless mischief making grin, which never failed to send a shiver down John's spine.

"The one with the," John sputtered "Sherlock she has a name!"

"Well yes I know, but then you never keep them around for long so why should I bother? I remember _who_ they are in context." Sherlock remained on the couch staring fixedly at John, who never felt comfortable under that gaze and fidgeted.

"Yes well, you remember Sarah." John found he was losing his nerve a bit, but was suddenly struck by another thought. "Hang on, what do you mean another girlfriend? You make it sound like I've got a new one every week."

Sherlock snorted, "No, every three weeks on average. I really don't know why you bother bringing them round anymore. It's always too soon. As for Sarah, she was the only useful one." He could see irritation in John's face and body, people were so sensitive. But he liked the passion in John, his enthusiasm for life. Most people were so dim witted and blind Sherlock thought, but with John it was different, there was something in the doctor that he found magnetic.

"Every three weeks…You actually bothered to do out the math? Guess I can't say you don't care about me." John joked as he tucked a bottle of eggnog into the fridge. "Oh never mind." He said waving a loaf of bread at his unmoving flat mate. Stowing the bread John chanced a glance at Sherlock; he was staring ahead, slightly to the left and seemingly into another dimension, what John referred to in his head as Sherlock's 'thinking space.'

Sherlock shut his eyes again, "of course, I'd be lost without my blogger. Who else would work so hard to find gaps in my knowledge?" He sat back and attempted to reorganize his thoughts, but was distracted again.

John made an exasperated sound in his throat, "you're not still mad about that solar system bit are you? You know I've been very kind in my recent entries, probably more than you deserve."

"Oh well if I don't deserve it…" Sherlock rose from the couch and paced around the living room, looking for something, becoming more irritated at his current state of distraction.

John sighed and tucked the shopping bags into their drawer, "what are you looking for? Lost your thumb screws again?"

"What? No I found those weeks ago. Your skills are improving however, don't believe I mentioned it." He stopped pacing and retrieved a set of glass beakers from under a newspaper next to the fireplace.

The doctor blinked, "yes well, I suppose you might...Say that." He said quite certain that he didn't want to know why Sherlock owned thumb screws. He reached over to put on the water, and promptly shut it off again when Sherlock's mobile began to ring.

"Well then I hope you are ready to put your newly sharpened skills to the test!" Sherlock called leaping across the room for his chirping mobile. "That'll be Lestrade with a case!" He snatched his phone up from the window sill, "Hello, What have you got? We'll be right over. Come on John! This is wonderful!"

John had been hurriedly trying to maneuver the Christmas duck into the freezer and spun around to see Sherlock swinging his coat on and dashing out of the apartment.

"What is it?" John yelled down the stairs hastily grabbing his own jacket and following his friend as fast as he could, almost nose diving down the stairs when he caught the toe of his shoe at the top of the stairs.

"Group suicide," Sherlock yelled hailing a cab and practically running into the street in the process. The cabbie stopped just short of the detective and Sherlock flung the door open, calling out an address to the driver and sliding over to make room for John, who slid in next to him.

Leaning back into the cushions John couldn't help but grin, this was always his favorite part. Madly dashing off, bound for unknown horrors.


	2. Making Spirits Bright

A/N: No, I'm not making any money from these writings, I am merely doing this for my own entertainment and that of others.

Sherlock looked around the room, it was Christmas at Baker Street, John and Mrs. Hudson had decked out the flat in Christmas finery and while he thought it unnecessary he couldn't deny that was it cozy. Secretly he did enjoy parties; people were so intent on trying to be pleasant that they forgot to maintain their façades, making it all too easy to see through to their real thoughts and feelings. However as he looked around the room he noted that there was less masked resentment than was typical for a holiday party. It seemed that this group of people that he and John had stitched together, a group that might almost be described as friends, genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

His eye fell on John, his friend was introducing around another girlfriend, just as he'd known the doctor would. However it didn't seem to be going well, her smile didn't reach her eyes and her body language was closed and distant, clearly she wanted to be elsewhere.

"Taller than him, dark haired, slim…Interesting." Sherlock said to himself, filing away the facts for later note. His comment did not escape notice however; he turned to find Molly looking up at him.

"Did you say something?" He asked turning towards her, taking in the form fitting dress, large sparkly earrings, bright red lipstick and the nail polish that matched it, undoubtable her toes echoed the color.

"I was just asking what you said; don't like seeing gloomy faces on Christmas." She smiled, though Sherlock could still see the nervousness behind it.

He stared hard at her for a second, "I was simply considering Dr. Watson's date. He very clearly has a type."

Molly swallowed nodding, "she looks like you. They all do, can't be coincidence can it? He must really look up to you."

"No." Sherlock shifted his gaze back to John, who was leaning against the counter and looking on as Mrs. Hudson chatted with the girl he'd brought with him.

"Too soon."

"Sorry?" Molly questioned, and Sherlock could hear she was put out that she had lost his attention.

"He shouldn't have brought her over yet, it's too soon. So why did he bring her?" Sherlock was suddenly at attention, sizing up every move of the doctor and his date.

"Maybe he doesn't think it's too early, when's a better time to introduce a girlfriend than Christmas?" Molly always found herself a bit disconcerted around Sherlock's sudden mood changes and never quite knew how, or if she should react to them.

"No, no it's not that it's Christmas, he did the same thing twice before when he was seeing the one with the spots and the one with the nose. He's trying to make a point, to who is the question."

Though Molly realized Sherlock wasn't speaking to her, however she had a ready answer she suspected was close to the truth.

"Maybe to you? Or, or Mrs. Hudson." She quelled under Sherlock's piercing glare, "you know, that he can have a life even while chasing around on cases all the time?"

"Molly!" Sherlock whirled to face her, "sometimes you are accidentally brilliant."

Molly couldn't decide whether to take this last as a backhanded compliment or an insult and while she was working it out Sherlock strode across the flat to corner the doctor against the refrigerator.

"I know what you're doing; I know why you keep bringing girls round and why it's only when I'm at home."

"Wha…That makes one of us then," John tried to take another step backwards, succeeding in backing into the fridge. "Do you think we could do this in the hall?" John asked taking Sherlock tightly by the upper arm and half guiding half dragging the taller man through the sitting room and out into the hallway.

"What are you going on about now?" John crossed his arms and glared at Sherlock, the effect only slightly diluted by the angle at which he had to look up to do so.

Sherlock blinked saying, "I know why you keep bringing girls around the house; it's not really about them is it? It's about me."

"What?! About you? No, Sherlock not everything in my life is about you. I'm just a replacement for your skull remember?"

"No, certainly not everything, and don't worry you make a much better companion than the skull. However your girlfriends, the one with the nose and the one with the spots on the other hand…"

"It was the other way round," John snapped without thinking.

"Not, even a correction on the names? Interesting." Sherlock smirked and stepping quickly around the shorter man swept off to rejoin the party, leaving a surly John in the darkened hallway behind him.


	3. Killing The Pain

"My leg hurts," Watson complained for not the first time that night as he shifted again in his chair.

"Did you try the ice?" Sherlock asked not looking up from his perch next to the sink.

"Yes I tried the ice; it isn't even taking the edge off. Do you have any pain killers?" Watson asked rubbing at the old bullet wound on his thigh. Determinedly not asking why on earth Sherlock was sitting on the counter.

"No. though I would think the corner store does." Sherlock said still as unmoving as a statue.

"Well I should think they do, which wouldn't be so much of a bother if my _leg_ didn't hurt. And since you're not likely to volunteer, do you have anything else that might help?" Watson could hear the irritation is his voice; it did finally seem to draw Sherlock's attention.

"I would try heat if I were you John." Sherlock said tapping the kettle with the chopstick he was holding. "That and some massage might do you good. I usually find both quite instrumental in reliving body aches."

"You couldn't have mentioned that when I was hopping about making ice earlier? Could you at least put the kettle on?"

Sherlock mutely turned the stove on and continued to read.

"uh, thank you." Watson said puzzled, Sherlock was being even more uncommunicative than usual this evening. "I'll be right back down." He added as he started the painful trek upstairs for his hot water bottle. By the time Watson made it back down again the water was nearly ready, the water bottle had been at the bottom of one of his boxes. When he entered the kitchen and made to pour the water however Sherlock hopped off the counter suddenly.

"I've got it, sit down." He said taking the bottle and practically shoving Watson into a chair at their dining table.

"Thanks," Watson said when the bottle was returned to him, now full of steaming water. "You don't happen to know a place where I can get a massage at this hour?" He asked Sherlock, half joking.

"Not any place that actually gives massages," he replied. "Though I do know one young lady, Snow Lilly, whom I imagine would be quite adept. Would you like to give her a call?"

Watson blinked, "you imagine?"

"I've never actually been to her for a massage." Sherlock said giving Watson a strange look over the top of his book.

"Oh, oh…I see." Watson stammered, "Well then I should think not, no." he was having trouble picturing Sherlock with a woman, or with a man for that matter. He hadn't thought of Sherlock as the sort of person that would have such desires.

"Well I could do it myself then, I did study massage briefly and this will afford me a chance to practice my technique." Sherlock offered matter- of-factly.

"I, uh, no, no that's quite alright. I think. Wait, you studied massage?" Watson tried to shift uncomfortably and only succeeded in sending a bolt of pain through his left leg.

"Yes, for a short time. It would be most effective if you would change into something a bit more pliable, tracksuit bottoms or pajamas should do." He eyed Watson who was still sitting, staring at Sherlock motionless. "Well go on then!" he said hopping off the counter again, "I'll be ready when you are." And with that he took off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves.

"I, well…Um, okay. I'll just be a minute then." Watson said making for the stairs and wondering why he was agreeing to this.

When he made it back downstairs he found that Sherlock had cleaned their dining table off and added leaves to it.

"Lay flat on your back." Sherlock said looking over his shoulder; he seemed to be warming his hands over the stove.

Watson made his way over to the table and gingerly lay down on it, all the while asking himself why on earth he was doing this, and hoping that nothing corrosive had been spilled during one of the detective's many chemistry experiments.

"The answer is quite simple really," Sherlock noted turning around and glancing at the look on Watson's face.

"The answer?" Watson asked, playing for time, though he was quite sure what Sherlock meant.

"Yes, you are uncomfortable with this mostly because of my gender, rather boring really. However you would feel no better if I were female. Your leg pains you and you know, even if only implicitly, that I am the most likely person to be able to assist you. Quite simple as I said."

"How do you know I'm uncomfortable just because I don't trust you?" Watson knew that Sherlock would see though his ploy in a second, but he couldn't help feeling annoyed at being called boring.

Sherlock let out a small sigh "I see that I have to explain you to yourself, short version then." he allowed himself a minute eye roll in place of saying 'how dull' "very well," he went on " in simple terms, you are not the type of person that easily trusts however you trust me in spite of yourself. Can we move things along now?" Sherlock gestured to Watson's leg; Watson looked down at himself and realized that without knowing it he had clapped his left hand firmly over the old wound.

"Um, yes. Yes let's, let's move things along then." With a force of will Watson removed his hand from his leg and folded his arms behind his head. As near an approximation of relaxation as he could manage.

Sherlock smirked slightly at this and turned the stove off, briefly probing the area above Watson's left knee with his fingers Sherlock soon turned his knuckles into the muscle and began to knead slowly.

Watson tensed, the kneading hurt but it also started to unlock a deep muscular knot in his leg and slowly he convinced himself to relax to Sherlock's touch.

"Good, it'll hurt less if you relax." Sherlock said running his knuckles up the back of John's thigh along the tendon the bullet had nicked on its way through.

Watson jumped at this and he did not manage to resist the reflex to pull away from the accidental invasion.

Sherlock straightened up quickly when Watson squirmed away and waited for the doctor to resettle himself.

"The tendon at the back of your leg appears to have been injured when you were shot." He tilted his head to the side slightly; it looked as though he were trying to see into Watson's leg.

"Yeah, part of the hamstring was damaged badly as the bullet passed through." Watson uneasily lay down again, "that's the bit that really buggers me."

"Yes it would, did much scare tissue form in the area?" Sherlock had started again at Watson's knee having decided that working down through the calf would be the better route. It seemed to work and the doctor slowly relaxed again.

"What sort of infection was it that sent you home from Afghanistan?" Sherlock asked once Watson had relaxed enough to shut his eyes.

Watson didn't open his eyes and simply shook his head, "it was Typhoid, I was recovering from the shot to my shoulder when we were struck by an outbreak of it."

"You developed your limp while recovering then."

"Yes, right on all counts, something do to with the infection made the leg flare up." Watson chuckled, and without thinking said, "you know usually I have a bloke buy me dinner before we get to this point." Instantly regretting it as the other man looked up.

"I did the shopping this week," Sherlock said slyly.

"oh well then by all means," the doctor said dryly, throwing an arm over his face.

"Don't worry John," Sherlock said sensing his flat mates' unease. "I'll make you dinner before taking you up on that offer."

Watson wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he bit his tongue and didn't ask if Sherlock _could_ cook, instead settling for a simple "I see." And with that finally allowed himself to slip into a half dream as Sherlock worked at the knotted tendon.


End file.
